Apathy
by Dark-Night-Tigress
Summary: Oneshot; when you are all that's left, how do you go on? George/Harry, not-slash. yet. will add to it if the idea is well received. R&R please! COMPLETE for now


There was a clatter from somewhere near the kitchen of the house on Grimmauld Place, followed by the steady drip of a faucet. Footsteps rushed down the hall, and a voice was calling out to see if everything was okay, but it was met by silence. The footsteps finally reached the kitchen, and a soft gasp escaped as vibrant green eyes took in everything at once- the broken plates, glass shards over every inch of the floor, and the solitary red headed boy sitting in the midst of it, holding his hand with an expression of pain so intense it took his breath away.

Harry called to the boy, slowly pulling out his wand to clear the glass away, but when the boy didn't seem to notice him he cast a simple _Depulso_ before stepping carefully over to the now quietly rocking teen. He sat, facing him, and attempted to pull at the hand clutched to the boy's chest so that he could see how bad the wound was. The boy looked up, watching as his friend, his only friend, examined his steadily bleeding wrist, carefully removing any lingering shards of glass before wrapping it tightly in spelled gauze.

"Is it bad?" he whispered, finally. Harry looked up, shocked, as he hadn't heard a word from his solitary house guest since he'd arrived more than a week ago.

"George? Can't you…didn't you….you didn't…."

"….no…." he whispered, his voice barely audible even in the deathly quiet room, "they fell. I couldn't catch them…."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief, but kept his expression carefully neutral. He'd been told to watch for signs of suicidal behavior, but he just hadn't thought George would want to harm himself. That opinion had slowly changed the more time he spent around him. His friend was inconsolable, in a state of shock, and at that moment Harry was scared to even breathe lest he inadvertently cause the teen to break. The tension in the room grew, as Harry carefully checked over the other scrapes and small cuts over George's arms, but George didn't say a word. He didn't even flinch as Harry pulled a two inch piece of porcelain from his bare foot, but his eyes followed the motions with an almost academic curiosity. When Harry finished, George looked at him again.

"Is it bad?" he whispered.

"Is what bad, George?"

"Them…are they….bad?"

Harry met his friend's eyes, trying to understand. George had to have felt the wounds, and some of them must still be painful. He was sitting on the floor in the middle of what had been a roomful of shattered glass, yet he couldn't seem to connect that to the injuries he'd suffered. It was almost as if….

"George…can you feel this?"

Harry placed his hand over George's wrist and gently pressed against the bandaged wound. George held his eyes, and shook his head no. He sat in the middle of the floor, barefoot, and Harry only then realized that the boy was barely clothed, even though the house at Grimmauld Place was frigid and drafty. Yet there George sat, in a tshirt and his boxers against frigid tiles, asking if the wounds he had just received were bad.

"George…"

"…oh god…." George's eyes began to fill, and Harry immediately shifted to wrap himself around the boy, cradling him in his lap as hot tears began to stream down his face, "….oh godohgodohgod…."

"Shhh, George, it's okay," Harry whispered, "it's okay. Just tell me what's wrong, we'll fix it. I promise it's okay…"

"…Harry….it's gone….i can't feel it anymore! I c-can't…I c-can't f-feel it….I C-CAN'T _FEEL_!"

Harry felt the shudders begin to wrack his friend's body, and clutched him tighter, knowing his touch would leave bruises but unwilling to care.

"It's okay, it's okay….listen to my heartbeat Georgie…..it'll be okay….." Harry's voice dropped to a soft croon, as if talking to a small child, but George didn't seem to mind. His shudders became regular shivers and his sobs softened, "feel me, you can feel me right? Breathe baby, just breathe…."

George did, but his eyes remained lost and glazed, and soft whimpers trailed from his lips.

"It's gone…..it's gone Harry…..I can't f-feel it anymore….."

His voice sounded so pained that Harry felt his own eyes beginning to water, and he finally thought he understood what was wrong. But he knew that George had to get this out, so he waited, and rocked him gently through his tears. They sat there in silence, and Harry's legs began to fall asleep, but he didn't move them lest he break whatever spell had allowed George to finally grieve. When he did speak again, his voice was so soft that Harry could barely hear him, even with his cheek pressed against George's neck and his arms holding him tightly to his chest.

"It's gone. F-F-Fred…he took it…." George shuddered softly, "I can't feel it anymore…."

"….what can't you feel, Georgie? Tell me…."

Slowly, so slowly, George turned, leaning into Harry's warmth and looked up at him like a lost child. Harry stroked the tears from his face, lingering over the freckles and the stark lines that showed just how broken his cheery friend had become. George's eyes followed the motions, before they closed in pain.

"H-He took it. Our…our link. He took it with him, and n-now I'm alone….I c-can't f-feel him anymore. F-F-Fred, he's gone Harry!" George's eyes opened, swimming with tears and pleading, "H-He left me….w-why did he _l-leave_ me?"

Harry didn't know what to say, and George didn't seem to want an answer. His tears began again, and Harry cried with him, missing Fred, and wishing that he could take George's hurt away. He knew that they were close, that losing Fred had been like losing a part of himself for George, but he had no idea how deeply that pain went. Fred was George's soulmate, in every sense of the word, and when he died he took George's will to live with him.

The room quieted after a time, silent except for the occasional sniff or sigh from the burden in Harry's lap, the sound of lifeblood dripping from George's gaping, soul-deep wounds.


End file.
